Do Anything
by 123serendipitee
Summary: What happened on that beach in "Injured"? Did you believe Jess when she said, "Nothing"? Well, neither did Nick! But he couldn't get anyone to tell him the truth, and he just couldn't seem to remember...
1. Chapter 1

**HEY, Nick/Jess fans! - :oD**

**I love you! You know why I love you?! Because you love NEW GIRL! And _because _people like you love New Girl, maybe, hopefully, we'll get years and years more of this fun. :o) But in the meantime, it's enough, MORE than enough, to be getting a fabulous SEASON TWO of our favorite show. :o) And to celebrate this happy event, please consider this story as my gift to you! :o)**

**Okay...maybe it was a little bit of a gift to myself, too! ;o) After all, a canon-loving girl can only have SO much restraint. ;o) And I felt like the show left us a GREAT BIG HUGE GAPING OPEN DOOR in this episode, so doggone it, I decided to take advantage of it! ;o)**

**WARNING...to those of you who prefer your endings perfectly easy and happy, you might want to stop reading right after Nick falls asleep on the beach. But for those of you who are up for a wilder ride, some real-life kind of emotions, and some deLIcious angst, read on!**

**(Oh, you might notice a wink to one of my favorite movies in this story, as well! The title is a big hint. ;o))**

* * *

"I'm not gonna remember any of this in the morning, am I?!"

Jess laughed, acknowledging Nick's stoned state. No...it was almost guaranteed that he would not. He was a spectacularly forgetful drunk to begin with, but the unprecedented addition of narcotics into the mix had been playing havoc with his mental acuity from time to time throughout the evening.

"We should go home," she said, considering the late hour, and the gravity of the events waiting to unfold the following morning.

"Yes. Let's go home," he agreed.

But they didn't.

Instead, they kept sitting there in the cold dark, watching the black waves splintering and sizzling against the shore, while mentally reviewing the day.

Nick had said it best, an hour or so before: "I woke up today, and I wanted to play a friendly game of touch football, then I hurt my back, and I went to your gynecologist, and now I might have cancer!"

Crazy, huh? But that about summed it up. Oh, except there was also the part about him telling Jess she didn't know how to be real, her turning around and goading him to be more spontaneous, and then him running impulsively into the ocean and immediately regretting it.

Okay, _now_ it's summed up. The absolutely insane day they'd all just lived. And now there they all were, sitting on the beach, in the wee hours of the morning, feeling exhausted from_ feeling_, but somehow unwilling to let the night end.

Because no one knew what the next day would hold.

Schmidt and Cece had fallen asleep next to each other a distance away, after talking about who knew what...those two had developed a weird friendship lately. Winston had gotten cold after giving Nick his jacket, and had gone to sit in his "car" and call Shelby. And Nick...well, Nick had started out sitting in the sand having a grand ol' sulk, soaking wet and miserable in body and soul. But then those three...or four...pain pills that he'd tossed back had started to kick in. And by the time Jess had come to join him the lights of the midway in the distance had been spinning in a slow motion blur, and he'd been feeling no pain.

"Well Jess, I tried it your way. I think I'm just destined to be a wallet-holder." Nick's regretful but resigned words now suddenly broke the long and comfortable silence that had been stretching between them, keeping them connected even as they'd sat there lost in their own thoughts.

"Aw, I don't think so, Nick," she answered, with that unflagging teacher-y optimism of hers. "That's the thing about running into the ocean. Sometimes you don't know what will be waiting there for you. But at least it will always be an adventure, and afterwards, you won't have to wonder what would have happened if you hadn't been too scared to take the plunge."

He was silent for a few more beats before blurting out, seemingly nonsensically, "Anything?"

She squinted at him in indulgent confusion. "Hmmmm?"

"What would I do if I could do _anything_, without being afraid of what might happen?"

Smiling gently at the slightly goofy mental place the pain meds had him in right now, she wordlessly traveled with him back to a conversation that had taken place much earlier in the evening. "Yeah?"

"Why did you ask me that, Jess?"

She shrugged with careful carelessness. "You told me to be more real. I was being real. I think you let your fears hold you back. I think you should seize the moment more, and stop worrying so much about what could go wrong. If you always focus on that, you'll never take any risks, and nothing in your life will ever change."

"But I'm a screw up, Jess," he argued, only slightly slurring his words. "And when I do things on impulse...when I do things that 'change my life'...it always changes it for the_ worse_."

"That's not true, Nick."

"What do you know, Jess?! You haven't been around very long! It_ is _true, and I don't want..."

He stopped and seemed lost in wandering thought until she prompted, "What?" And then he seemed to start over, in a burst:

"If I have to _give up _what I really want, in order to _keep _what I really want, then it's worth it."

"Sweetieeee... I have no idea what you're talking about," she said, as if talking to a small child, and gently rubbing his shoulder.

He concentrated really hard on getting the next words out without messing them up, because they were kinda important: "I'm talking about YOU, Jess."

The hand on his shoulder froze, and her blue eyes went wide and startled and wary like a skittish deer. He turned to look at her, and suddenly their faces were way closer than he thought they would be.

And once he'd blinked his eyes a few times to bring her blurry face into focus, he suddenly found that he couldn't stop starting at her mouth.

"For instance," he huskily almost-whispered, "I want more than anything, right now, right this minute, to kiss you."

"That's the pills talking, Nick," she quickly interrupted.

"NO, it's not," he replied, half angrily...

"It's the beer talking..."

"Jess..."

"Ok, it's the pills AND the beer..."

"Stop it, Jess..."

"Ok, its the CANCER talking," she offered a little frantically...

"NO, Jess," he interrupted her with final firmness, "it's really not. I've wanted to kiss you for so long that I don't even _remember _when I started wanting to kiss you. _But do you know what I want more than kissing you_?"

She opened her mouth, but nothing came out, so he continued. "I want you in my life. I don't want to lose you. I...I need you too much. I need you around giving me dirty looks when I drink too much. And telling me that I need to stop just existing, and really LIVE. And...making me laugh on days when there's no one else on earth who could make me laugh. I'm a better person when I'm with you. I _need to be _the person you want me to be. And I've barely even gotten started on that. And I'm afraid that if I give in, and do what I want to do, and kiss you, that I'm going to screw things up, AGAIN, and you'll leave. And then I'd be back to...to where I was before. And that terrifies me."

Although there was no way he would ever have said any of that stuff if he'd been sober, he was also speaking with a strange clarity of thought that contradicted his blurry speech, and couldn't be ignored. Jess had been searching his eyes for..._something_...the whole time he was talking, and maybe she found it, because now hers were bright with unshed tears.

She didn't respond for several seconds, and when she finally did, it was in a hesitant whisper. "Nick...do _you_ want to know the truth? About _why_ I asked you...what you would do...if you could do_ anything_?"

She paused and gulped, and he did the same, his gaze on her face fixed and unblinking as he waited for her to continue.

"I asked you that because..." she smiled a wobbly, teary smile that wavered on humiliation, but she kept going, "I think that's secretly what I wanted to hear. Or at least what I wanted to make you_ think _about_. _I mean...I've wanted you to...to want to...to kiss me. But I didn't think that you'd ever actually _say _it," she ended quickly, with a watery laugh.

"What are you saying Jess?" he asked, a little fuzzily. He desperately hoped that she was saying what he_ thought _she was saying, but hey, he was hopped up on some really powerful opiates which he'd inadvisedly been washing down with alcohol all night, so he had to be sure.

"I'm saying..." she continued, her dusky voice a little stronger now, "I've wanted to kiss you, too. But I've been scared too. Because I don't want to lose _you_, either."

For moments on end his only movement in response was his slow blinking, and the sea breeze ruffling his curls in the moonlight, as he processed her words through an increasingly foggy brain.

"Jess..." he finally said in a slow, wondering voice, as if realizing that the answer to what he'd thought was a unravelable riddle was really quite simple, "If we're not going to remember any of this tomorrow anyway...then what's stopping us now?"

Her eyes went all crinkled around the edges with affectionate amusement, as she laughed in the silent, open-mouthed way she had, before taking a breath to begin to contradict him. But then..._then_...a different look dawned on her face...simultaneously bemused and thoughtful...and she cocked her head softly, squinted at him curiously, and slowly closed her mouth again.

Yes, thanks to the unregulated cocktail of booze and pain killers that Nick had been pounding back all night, he'd drifted in and out of lucidity at unpredictable intervals. So he smugly congratulated himself on the fact that now, when it really mattered, his mind was razor sharp. Hell, even _Jess_, who let's face it, could argue the bark off a stump, was unable to come up with a response to the kind of iron clad logic that he'd just presented her with. And he heard himself saying again, more quietly, but more confidently, "What's stopping us, Jess?"

"N...nothing...that I can...that I can think of..." she answered softly, slowly, in the kind of voice you would use in trying not to frighten away a small woodland creature that was finally, bravely, approaching the hand you were trying to feed it with.

"Well...okay then," he answered. Eh. Not his smoothest line ever, but her lips didn't even so much as quirk with the desire to smile at his lameness. On the contrary, her whole face had gone utterly still, and serious.

And expectant.

And for a few long seconds they both seemed to be holding their breaths. Then he was falling into her eyes, drawn irresistibly to the possibilities he saw there, possibilities edged with something sweet and sad and secret. And when his lips first bumped against hers, he jumped in surprise, because he didn't even realize their mouths were that close yet. Her eyes were still open, and people were supposed to shut their eyes when they kissed, weren't they? So how was _he _supposed to know he was getting that close?

"Shut your eyes," he rasped. And she did. She closed her eyes to everything around them, and to everything that could go wrong, and just surrendered to his lips as they took hers again, still just the softest of brushes, but with purpose this time.

And he had to try really hard not to groan at the first touch of her berry-red lips, because none of his fantasies could ever have prepared him for just how soft and precious she really was. Because maybe it was the heady high he was on, but when he kissed her he felt, for the first time ever, that he wasn't kissing just a physical body, but a _soul_.

And her lips were sweet...unbearably, unbearably sweet...but her soul was the sweetest thing he had ever known in his life.

And all he knew was that he wanted more, more than this gentle fumbling at her lips like a bee to a blossom. He wanted to taste more deeply of her very essence...to attempt to reach the place where he knew...had always known...that his soul and hers could unite.

And at that moment nothing could have stopped him from trying.

So he leaned in more determinedly, and tilted his head, and when he nuzzled her lips apart they fell unquestioningly open beneath his, and this time he was unable to suppress a low growl as he tested her with his tongue. But in the next second the growl hitched and froze in his throat, because she was kissing him back, greeting him with eager little inner licks that said she'd been wanting to know what he tasted like too, and that she wasn't disappointed.

When he heard a whimper he wasn't sure who it came from, him or her, and in truth, it didn't matter, because he was leaning over her now, lightly pressing her back into the sand, and one of her hands was trembling against the back of his neck, trying to get up the nerve to touch him like she really meant it.

And then she was stretched out beside him, and he was being careful to hold the weight of his body away from her, as he rose up on one elbow to drink in the image of her face in the moonlight. Her lips were slightly parted, conquered, waiting and wanting, and glistening with his own saliva. And that observation primed a deep well of possessiveness within him, and turned him on more than he could ever remember anything doing, because she was Jess...JESS.

And right then she was HIS Jess.

But as always it was her eyes that he couldn't look away from, once he met her unblinking gaze, and he searched them for the answers he was needing.

They were round and all-trusting, with an infinite softness that he recognized, but didn't dare let himself define. He chose, instead, to try to focus on the new and intriguing passion he now saw flickering darkly in their depths. But when even that was ultimately shadowed by an overwhelming sadness, he frowned in confusion.

"Jess..." he asked, slightly breathlessly, "do you want me to stop?" _please say no please say no please say no_

A tear was escaping one eye now, but she shook her head violently against the sand.

He reached out with one hand to thumb away the tear, before cupping her face the way one would an object of reverence, and asked simply, "Then what's wrong?"

She sniffed the tiniest of sniffs, and said in the tiniest of voices, almost embarrassed, "You're not going to remember this."

"I find that really hard to believe, right now," he husked deeply, primally, ignoring the fact that the very promise of forgetfulness was the only reason he'd ever gotten brave enough to do this to begin with.

But she was reaching up and touching his face in return now, and as a tear fell from her other eye, she whimpered, "Please don't stop." And she pulled his head down to her again.

And whether it was the crashing of the waves, or the wild rush of his own heartbeat pulsing in his ears, he didn't even pause to wonder, because now he was plunging into her mouth with the same abandon and thirst for life that he'd originally dived into the ocean with-but this time without the immediate shock and regret. Far from it, he felt like he'd never been in such a warm and safe and good and right place in his life, and he was pretty sure that kissing Jess was the smartest thing he'd ever done.

When he finally felt like he'd fully tasted of the riches her mouth had to offer, he pulled away again, and if his own breath was breaking in jagged edges into the dark, his masculinity was gratified to hear hers joining his in irregular little pants. He pushed back her heavy bangs to assess her eyes again, and found them hazy and unfocused in the spiraling starlight.

And it would be easy...so easy...to slip a silent hand inside her coat...to take advantage of her limp willingness, and her absolute trust...and to touch her in places that would make her gasp, and maybe call out his name.

But he didn't. Even in his drugged state he knew that that would be breaching frontiers that mere forgetfulness would not justify. The same logic kept him from whispering all the things he wanted to tell her right now: all the crass and carnal things he was feeling, but also all the secret sweetnesses she'd been inspiring in him since the day she'd walked into his life. So he just leaned there above her and let it all, ALL of it, shine through his eyes as he looked down at her with hot tenderness.

And her eyes were pools that eagerly soaked it all up, accepting and mirroring his various unspoken passions, as she gripped the front of his shirt like she never wanted to let go.

When she finally asked, "Are you okay? Are you cold?", he realized that he was shaking, convulsively, uncontrollably, with emotions stronger than he know how to process. "No," he sniffed and shook his head. "No, I'm ...happy." And he said again, "I'm..." -fully expecting to hear himself repeat, "I'm happy". But this time he was surprised to hear himself say instead, "I'm...not afraid. " He half laughed and shook his head with the wonder of it. "For the first time that I can remember in a long time...I'm not afraid."

And as he said it, he felt a deep calm settle over and through him, with a warm rush rivaling and surpassing the fabulous wizardry of Sadie's magic uterus beans. Then he felt his shivering suddenly, perfectly, still and stop as Jess pulled him back down, pressed a kiss, like a promise, against his forehead, and drew his head in to nestle into the crook of her neck.

He settled down more deeply into the sand now, fully stretched out beside her, cradled and relaxed in her arms, and breathing deeply of the scent of her hair-because that was something else he'd always wanted to do. He felt her hands stroking his back, tentatively massaging the part that would have been excruciatingly painful right now if he hadn't been popping those pills like so much candy all night, and he thought he heard her whisper defiantly into the night, "_This _is real."

And he agreed-this was the most real and alive he'd ever felt, as if he'd slept his whole life up until that moment. And he might have told her that...but maybe he didn't...because he never knew when the meds finally took over.

And contrarily, just when he'd never felt more exquisitely awake...he fell asleep.

So he never knew that she laid awake for hours afterwards, letting her hands explore the hard muscles of his back, and the crisp hair on the back of his neck, memorizing them for future, wistful, reference.

And he never knew when, just as the first faint pink of the sun began tinting the horizon, she'd glanced towards their sleeping friends, and rolled out of his arms, and cried herself to sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

The next thing Nick _was _conscious of was waking up on the ground, hung-overish and confused and feeling like he'd been beaten with a ball bat. He had a few panicked moments of wondering just how much he'd drunk the night before, who he'd gotten in a fight with, and where the heck he'd passed out and spent the night.

So opening his eyes and rolling over and seeing Jess nearby, and Schmidt and Cece in the distance, was a sweet relief...even if he still couldn't really remember how he'd gotten there.

He felt something in his pocket digging into his hip, and reaching down, the memory of the pain pills came back to him like a gift. He took two too many, and while waiting for them to take effect and do their thing he just sat there contemplating the morning, and the ocean, and the fact that crazily enough, who knew, he might just be dying of cancer.

And he didn't bother waking up his friends until the meds had convinced him that he probably didn't care one way or the other, anyway, because so far life had really been over-rated.

He knew that the girl in the pink coat sleeping next to him would have had some sort of argument to probably all-too energetically posit against that line of thinking, so shaking her awake, and calling to his friends, he never let on that his stoicism was less bravery than it was fatalistic apathy.

Still, it didn't matter who you were, or how much your life actually really did suck, the news that you did not, in fact, have cancer, had to feel like a lottery win. And while having his friends around to stand shoulder to shoulder with him against looming mortality had been nice, having them around to join him in gently celebrating the gifts that_ life _and _mornings_ and _new beginnings _were was even nicer.

It was almost enough to make a man want to be able to embrace Jess's brand of delusion, in which the world was actually a good place, filled with good people, and good things just waiting to happen to him.

In fact, now that the specter of death wasn't hovering over him any longer, he somehow couldn't shake the conviction that indeed, last night something good _had_ happened to him...something rather epic and life-changing and dream-fulfilling...the kind of thing that was so great that it _never _happened to _him_...and so it seemed rather important that he remember what it was.

But he couldn't. All he knew was that it was something more than the pre-funerial musical tribute his buddies had drunkenly given him, and something more than the incredible FAIL of his midnight swim in the ocean. Both events, while each epic in their own way, had already been discussed, relived, and laughed over in full that morning on the way to the sonogram, by way of keeping the demons at bay.

No, this time The Thing He Was Forgetting was important, and kept dancing tantalizingly just ahead of his memory's grasp.

But he knew it had something to do with waking up next to Jess on the beach.

So he'd asked her.

Half-fearing and half-giddy to see the truth in her eyes (because Jess was almost a worse liar than he was) he asked, "Jess...what happened last night?!"

"Nothing!" she'd answered.

Nothing.

But her "Nothing!" had come a little too quickly...a little too anticipatory and prepared...and while it seemed for a second like she was searching his eyes for something, her smile as she spoke was so carefully a complete blank slate that he half-laughed, waiting for her to fold, and spill the beans.

But she didn't.

So he'd asked Winston, on the bus ride home.

Across the aisle, Jess had appeared to be sleeping; her head was nestled in Cece's lap, and Cece was stroking Jess's long hair in a motherly, protective, comforting fashion. Fuzzy, inconclusive flashes from the night before were beginning to knife through Nick's mind, but some of it was pretty outrageous, so it was hard to figure out what might_ have _actually happened, versus what he might have been wishing_ would_ actually happen, versus what he might have _dreamed did _actually happen.

Because he had some pretty vivid dreams after a bender anyway, plus those pills were their own little slice of heaven and dreams come true, all on their own.

So again, he had to ask. "Hey...Winston?"

"Yeah buddy?"

"What happened last night?"

Winston paused just microscopically too long, and his response when it came, like Jess's, was too studiedly guarded. "What do you mean?"

Nick decided to stop dancing around the subject, and just cut to the chase. "On the beach...did anything weird happen last night? You know...between Jess and me?"

Again the infinitesimal pause, and again, the carefully sterile response, "Dude, I fell asleep in my car. I have no idea what you guys...talked about."

But unlike Jess, Winston was going out of his way not to meet Nick's eyes.

"Winston." Nick reproached evenly, giving his best friend a pointed look.

"I know this," Winston deflected, suddenly a little too angry, a little too defensive, "You owe Jess an apology!"

"What for?!" Nick asked, dreading the answer.

"You told her she couldn't speak at your funeral!"

"What the hell?!" Nick laughed.

"You said she was just too goofy all the time, and didn't know how to be real."

Nick looked over at the lump of legs and hair in Cece's lap, and felt a hot tenderness well up in him. "Well that's not true," he defended her against himself. _Jess was more real than any of them were brave enough to be.  
_  
"I know, it was just the toxic levels of narcotics and beer in your system talking. I believe you were also sporting an imaginary hat for half the night. But it really hurt her feelings, man. You could see it in her eyes. You really hurt her feelings."

Right then, hurting Jess's feelings felt like a unforgivable crime against all that was good in the world, and Nick asked his oldest friend in frustration, "Why do I always screw everything up, man? I mean...seriously...why am I such a screw up?"

"I don't know man," Winston didn't even bother lying to him, "You just have a gift for it."

Nick sniffed wryly. "Ouch."

"You asked, man."

"I know, man."

And they rode out the rest of the ride in silence, with Nick occasionally glancing across the aisle with an itchy and restless irritability. Somehow, irrationally, inexplicably, he found himself feeling like _he _should be the one holding Jess in her sleep, pushing her heavy hair away from her face, and comforting her.

And it just didn't feel right that he wasn't.  
_  
Damn Cece._


	3. Chapter 3

The minute they walked into the loft, he'd started drinking. All anyone _else _could think about was getting out of their two-day-old, scratchy, sandy, stinky clothes, and on the walk home from the bus stop it had been decided that drawing numbers out of a hat was the only fair way to decide what order they were claiming the shower in.

So the second the apartment door opened, Jess had immediately run to her room to fetch one of her silly hats, and Winston had set to work writing everyone's names down on little slips of paper, while Schmidt and Cece just bickered in the background over whether or not double-showers should be permissible, if two names were accidentally drawn from the hat at the same time.

But Nick had walked in and headed straight to the fridge.

When the shower lotto was underway, he walked up behind them to check on their progress, taking a big swig from his bottle and resting a heavy arm across Jess's back.

She turned, surprised, and immediately erupted, "NICK!"

"What?!"

"You're not supposed to be drinking while you're on pain killers, man," Winston chided in weary annoyance, trying unsuccessfully to take the bottle away from him.

"What's everyone's damage?! No one objected to this last night!"

"Last night you were dying of cancer," Cece pointed out dryly. "At the time it seemed a little redundant to point out that mixing meds and alcohol wasn't good for you."

"Well in case no one's noticed," Nick asserted with dramatic sarcasm, "I've had a really bad 24 hours or so. So if I want to drink all afternoon long, I think I've earned that."

And that's exactly what he did.

His friends showered.

He drank.

His friends ate a quick snack.

He drank.

His friends napped.

He drank.

His friends got up and began resuming life as usual.

He drank.

Which, of course, it could be argued,_ was _his "life as usual". But it had to be admitted that the pills were putting their own "fun" spin on things, and before the night was over, he was saying stuff like:

"Jess, do you think I have a chance with Sadie?"

"SADIE?!"

"Yeah, I mean, I know she plays for the other team and everything. But she did once date a woman who looked like me, right? So I'm halfway there."

"Let me get this straight," Jess said sarcastically, "You're attracted to Sadie."

"Well she was so gentle...and kind...and smart. She gave me these pills, and they make me feel really, really, good. That has to be love, right? I mean, I can't stop thinking about the way she was holding my hand in the waiting room. I'm serious, I think she's in love with me."

"Uh...Nick...that was _me _holding your hand when the pain got really bad in the waiting room."

"You, Jess?"

"Yes, Nick."

"Ooooh." He paused to think for a second. "Are _you _in love with me, Jess?"

"NO, Nick," she snapped irritably.

"Oh. Okay, well you don't have to sound so annoyed about it! But that's good. That's really good. Because I think I'm holding out for Sadie."

Schmidt and Cece had been arguing about what to cook for dinner, and how to cook it, and they'd finally taken their fight out the door to continue it at the grocery store.

Jess had never noticed Cece being quite as interested in cooking as she'd been since meeting Schmidt, but she was glad that her model friend seemed to be developing a hobby that did not involve boys with face tattoos, so she didn't say much about it.

They'd been gone for quite awhile, and it was just Nick and Winston and Jess left at the loft. Nick and Winston had been watching a "Ridiculousness" marathon, but out of deference to Jess's extreme distaste for that show, they'd kept it near-muted. If they found that it really was infinitely more watchable that way, they certainly wouldn't ever have admitted it to Jess.

And as for her, she'd been aimlessly wandering in and out of the living room all afternoon, hovering just at the edge of Nick's consciousness, not ever really connecting with him, but not ever really going away. Not ever really saying anything, but with a silence so loud that it was speaking volumes. Always listening, without ever seeming to really care about anything he was saying. Always watching him, but never seeming pleased with what she saw.

And as the hours had passed, she had just seemed to grow more and more restless and frustrated. At the time of the Sadie exchange she was stretched out on the end of the couch, pretending to read a magazine, but really just flipping through the pages with audible irritation. You could all but hear her ticking like a flannel-clad time bomb.

So it was almost a relief for them all when Jess finally, crossly, ended this particular inane conversation by bitching, "You know Nick, if you're going to sit here and drink all day long, the least you can do is throw away your bottles."

Nick surveyed the excessive litter on the table top and mumbled, "Geez _Mom_, fine, but I don't notice you and Winston getting up to throw away any of yours."

"UH," Winston piped up, "That would be because NONE of those are ours."

"Really?" Nick blinked his eyes a few times at the number of discarded bottles and reflected that it really did seem rather exorbitant for just one person, in just a matter of hours. He raised his eyebrows and pulled a face, dubiously impressed with himself. "Wow."

So he gathered them up, and took advantage of his trip (or two) to the recycling bin to grab a fresh replacement from the refrigerator. But when he returned to the couch Jess pulled her legs out of his way in such a testy fashion that he finally found enough give-a-damn in the fuzzy mental state he was in to ask, "Something wrong, Jess?"

"Nothing," she shrugged benignly, and it was enough like her studiedly detached answer earlier that morning to almost sound like a deliberate parody, making him frown.

"Really?" he blurred, "Because I know I'm drunk, but I've spent enough time with the ladies to know..." he swayed a little on his feet as he pointed at her, "...you've got something you'd like to say!"

"Well now that you mention it, Nick..." she began, throwing her magazine down on the table, her voice already seeping with annoyance.

"JESS!" Winston shook his head at her, trying to stop her.

"WHAT, Winston?!"

"Not right now, Jess," he warned quietly. "What good will it do?"

"_I don't know_ Winston," she answered with exasperation. "None, I guess. Because even if it _does _do any good, it's not like he's going to remember it tomorrow, right? But when else are we ever going to have this conversation? Because goodness knows, he doesn't ever want to talk about anything when he's SOBER!"

"HEY," Nick finally slurred, "Why don't I know what you guys are talking about? Because I get the strong impression that it has something to do with me."

"Jess is just saying you drink too much, Nick," Winston said quickly, trying to head the entire conversation off at the pass. He wasn't sure where it was going, but he was _quite _sure that it would end up nowhere good.

"OHHhhhh...the old, 'Nick, I don't like how much you drink' talk." He threw himself down into 'his spot' on the couch, and gestured with his bottle, "Well you know what Jess? Maybe there's stuff about you that _I _don't like either!"

"Here we go," Winston gritted, conceding that he wasn't going to be able to stop the runaway train.

"Oh yeah?" Jess was asking. "Like what? I'd like to know, Nick! Let's do this! Let's be real with each other! It will be nice, for a change!"

"OK! Fine! How 'bout we start with the WIG I had to pull out of the shower drain the other day! I'm surprised you have any hair left on your head! Do you think we had to deal with stuff like that when it was just us guys?!"

"OH, so you HAVE noticed there's a lady living here now?! I wouldn't have known, the way you're still always walking around in your UNDERWEAR!"

"How could I fail to notice, Jess, when having you around is like wearing a chastity belt 24/7?! Could you BE a bigger cock-blocker?!"

"Nick, if you're talking about all the times that I've saved you from drunken hook-ups with bar-crawlers who were probably walking petri dishes full of diseases, I'll plead guilty to that one! But HELLO, like you're any better!"

"What do you mean?!"

"Does the name PAUL ring any bells with you?!"

"Oh please, you and Paul's cock spent PLENTY of time together! Besides, you were the one who broke up with him because you didn't love him!"

"Yeah, well maybe I _could_ have loved him if you weren't always curling up your nose like he had dog poop on the bottom of his shoes, every time he was around! Paul was _perfect _for me, but you were always so busy acting like there was something the matter with him that I couldn't stop trying to figure out WHAT IT WAS!"

"Well...yeah...well...you know what else I hate about you?! The way you always smell like cupcakes. You could be laying in a pool of your own vomit, and you would still smell like delicious baked goods. It's not natural Jess! It creeps me out!"

"_That's_ the best you can come up with?! Winston and I are sitting here next to a man who smells like a vagrant sleeping off a bender on Cannery Row, and you want to complain about me smelling like _cupcakes_?!"

"Not profound enough for you, huh?! Okay, then how about this! You're always telling me to talk about how I feel...to get my feelings out. Well you wanna know how I feel, Jess?"

"More than anything, Nick," she encouraged sarcastically.

"I think letting you move in is the stupidest thing Schmidt's ever done...and we all know Schmidt's done a lot of stupid things in his time."

A horrible silence followed.

An absolutely stricken look fell on Jess's white face, and Winston pleaded softly, "Jess, don't listen to him, he doesn't mean it..."

But Nick was still drunk and oblivious. "The hell I don't! She's done nothing but turn our lives upside down since the day she showed up. Coach was right. A man starts going crazy in the head when he can't just come home, sit on the couch, and let his beans breathe once in awhile."

Jess finally found her voice, and although she was on the verge of tears, her tone was deadly as she continued this game that was no longer a game. "WELL HERE'S WHAT I HATE ABOUT YOU, NICK MILLER! I hate the way I tell you guys I love you ALL the time, and _you _can't even admit that you like having me around unless you're plastered. OH..._**but**_ _**WAIT**__!_ **_There's more! _**The next night you get plastered _again_, and tell me that having me around is the _worst thing ever_!

"So which is it?! How am I supposed to know?! I spent my entire life doing this with my dad, and I'm TIRED of it! Believing that when he got drunk and said nice things to me, it was the real him coming out. But telling myself that when he got drunk and said _mean _things to me, it was just the booze talking.

"And the sad thing is: I NEVER DID FIGURE HIM OUT. To this day, drunk, sober, I don't know _what _his truth is. And I REFUSE, Nick Miller, to keep doing the same thing with you!"

"Well if you think I'm such a terrible person,_ Jessica Day_, then why are you still here?!"

_"That is a really good question!"_

**"OKAY!"** Winston had finally had enough. "This is getting out of hand! Nick, you're drunk...SHUT UP! And Jess..." he paused, and continued more softly, but just as forcefully, "...there's been a lot going on, and you're tired, and emotional. So you shut up too! _ I'm _going to do the talking for awhile.

"Nick...newsflash...YOU DRINK TOO DAMN MUCH. I worry about you, Schmidt worries about you...but you wanna know why we never say anything about it?! And why Jess DOES?! Because we _gave up on you_, a long time ago. But Jess still_ believes _in you. She still believes there's hope for you. She believes it so hard that she makes me wanna believe it too, even though I've been around a lot longer than she has, and I know that you getting it under control at this point is, barring some miracle, extremely unlikely. Because you are an awesome guy with incredible potential who is completely_ pissing his life away_, and why yes, I _am _saying this right now because there is no way you're going to remember it tomorrow."

Winston paused, blew out a wide-eyed breath, and turned to Jess. "You're right. It's not going to make any difference, but it felt damn good just to get that out of my system.

"Now, as for YOU..." Winston scanned her face for a few seconds, and continued more gently. "You've got to stop caring so much, Jess. You can't FIX HIM. And you can't will him into wanting to fix himself. I like you Jess. We ALL like having you around, I promise you...even if we don't act like it sometimes." He gave her a teasing smile. "Would it be nice to live someplace where a guy could air out his beans in peace at the end of the day? Sometimes. But you've become the heart and soul of this place, and it wouldn't be the same without you."

Nick mumbled something incoherent but belligerent sounding, so Winston asked, "WHAT?"

"_I SAID,_'Why don't you just marry her?' DAMN Winston, you always sound like you're in love with her!"

"You know what Nick," Winston erupted angrily, "if Jess was meant for me, I'd marry her in a hot minute! But she's not for me! I don't know who...I don't know where...but there_ is _someone...someone out there...SOMEWHERE...in this BIIIIIG world..." (Winston's expansive hand gestures delineating the span of "the Whole Big Wide World" seemed curiously confined to the area that Nick was occupying on the couch) "...who she_ is _meant for. Someone who needs her more than he needs his next breath of oxygen. Someone who will HOPEFULLY stop being an idiot some day, and _wake up and smell the coffee_!"

Cece and Schmidt had walked in towards the end of this conversation, and were standing in the open doorway, bags in hand, mouths agape. At the end of Winston's impassioned speech, Schmidt whispered, "Is he talking about ME?! He's not talking about me, is he?! Because I like Jess and all, but not like _that_!"

Cece just slammed her bags into his arms, and pushed him towards the kitchen, before stalking towards the couch, positively seething with protectiveness. "Come on Jess, let's go."

Jess was emptied, limp, and only protested weakly, "Ok...just...let me go to the bathroom and wash my face first..."

Cece started following her down the hallway, but paused until Jess was out of earshot, to turn back and hiss at Nick, "YOU! _You've _been a giant disappointment to me!"

"Oh, you too?!" Nick jeered. "Well guess what, you'll have to take a number and get in line behind my mother, and every woman I've ever dated, BEFORE THIS DEPARTMENT WILL BE ABLE TO PROCESS YOUR COMPLAINT!" He had to yell the last part at Cece's retreating back, as she headed towards Jess's room.

"DAMN." Nick turned towards Winston. "What happened to the love?! Last night the glowing eulogies were writing themselves. Tonight it's like an episode of 'Everyone Hates Nick'."

"Don't look at me man," Winston said with weary seriousness, "I'm tired of cleaning up your messes."

"Is this about the bottles again?" Nick frowned.

"The bottles, and all the rest of your crap," Winston sniped uncharacteristically.

Schmidt came in from the kitchen. "Cece? Where did Cece go? We were supposed to cook dinner together. DAMN YOU NICK! This is your fault somehow, isn't it?"

"Geez, I'm going to develop fake cancer again," Nick muttered to himself, "Everyone was so much nicer that way..."

But all the drama was starting to sober him up enough to realize that, once again, drinking this much had really, probably, not been a very good idea...


	4. Chapter 4

It was late that night when Nick knocked on Jess's door, quietly, but insistently.

"Who is it?"

He grimaced and rolled his eyes at Cece playing the role of guard dog, pulling a hand down his face before grunting, " 's Nick."

"Go away, Nick."

He didn't. Instead, he opened the door and leaned against the doorframe, not completely at ease, but determined. "Cece, I need to talk to Jess for a minute."

"Maybe you didn't hear me, Nick. She doesn't want to talk to your drunk ass."

"Shut up Cece." Nick and Jess spoke in absolute tandem. And the uncharacteristic tone of quiet assertion, from both of them at once, was enough to make Cece throw up her hands in huffy surrender and reluctantly leave the room.

But when her best friend was gone, Jess did a perfectly adequate job keeping her guard up all on her own, merely raising an eyebrow at Nick in arch question.

He shuffled his feet and asked, "Hey...is it ok if I come in?"

"As long as you'll leave whenever I tell you to."

He sniffed his acknowledgement that he deserved this treatment, but approached her bed saying, "I've got a little speech ready, here, so...do you mind?...or I'll never be able to focus on it..." -and he suppressed a groan as he knelt, bent at the waist, and lowered his upper body across the foot of her bed until he was laying on his stomach in the way that seemed to hurt the least. "Sorry..." he mumbled through compressed lips, gritting a breath out through his nose.

He could see Jess struggling not to care, but of course, she was unsuccessful. "Aren't the pain pills working anymore?"

He smiled humorlessly. "I cut myself off. I didn't want to go to bed without talking to you tonight, and I wanted you to know that it was ME talking to you. Not...you know...any of the...other stuff..." He drifted off sheepishly.

Jess was sitting cross-legged at the head of her bed...pjs, glasses, long braids, and red nose...looking like a little girl like she did sometimes, which was one of his favorite ways for her to look. It was simultaneously endearing, while rendering her absolutely sexless and safe. Which was perfect right now, because he was struggling increasingly with returning "memories" of what might actually have or have not happened the night before. He'd accepted the fact that no one was going to tell him the truth about it, but until he could render those images less staggering (a desensitization process which would take hours of solitary contemplation, he imagined), it was altogether best that he didn't think about them while actually in Jess's presence.

"Well?"

Jess's prompt woke him up to the fact that he was still just half-laying across her bed trying to will the pain away, while staring vacantly at the way the end of one of her braids curled just so, while the other one was a ragged mess. Her voice and the stiff way she was holding her entire being away from him made it obvious that she was not yet convinced that he was entirely sober.

But he had to be...he'd worked very hard to become so, with all the coffee and cold showers he could stand, while repeatedly mentally reviewing all the things he needed to tell her he was sorry for.

So, he supposed, it was time to get started.

"Jess," he began wearily, without raising a cheek from her comforter, "I owe you some apologies."

She looked down, and started worrying at the end of the mussy braid. He realized that she must have been performing this nervous action half the evening, and knowing that_ he _was the reason that that one poor little pigtail looked so wretched made him feel ridiculously bad, even more determined to continue, and added an even softer sincerity to his voice as he did so.

"I know I said some really stupid things, Jess. I hope you know I didn't mean them. I...I for sure didn't mean it when I said_...whatever_...about being sorry you lived here...or...whatever. That was just..." That was just referring to the fact that for months now she'd been making his life miserable by showing up in his day dreams, and his night dreams, and in tons of really inconvenient moments in between. But if inappropriate ideas and imaginings about his annoyingly irresistible roommate had tended to set up camp in his head far more often than he was comfortable with of late, it wasn't _her_ fault. But he certainly couldn't explain all of that to _her_, so he finally just ended, weakly: "That was just...dumb."

He visibly winced at the lameness of that "apology", and indeed, she didn't seem too moved by it. It made him even more nervous about his next mental bullet point, but he grimly forged ahead with it. "And I don't know what else I might have done or said last night that might have...hurt you...but I hope you'll forgive me. I don't want anything to come between us, Jess. You're really important to me, and I really...I really do need you around. I don't want anything to change that, you know? I...I just want us to be able to keep being friends."

He wasn't used to "sharing his feelings" so openly, and by the end of this horrible speech he'd buried his face in her bed. And when silence was still her only reply, he didn't have the nerve to look up again to see why. So he laid there in his own silence for a minute or so, breathing deeply in and out in attempt to control the pain. Except that suddenly he wasn't sure which pain it was, inner or outer, that was plaguing him the most.

When he finally rotated his face in her direction again, he saw that her head was still down, and she'd gone stone still, hugging her arms as if cold. _Dammit._ He'd wanted to make things better, and so far it didn't seem to be working out that way.

But he wasn't done yet, so he had to continue. "Winston told me that last night, at the bar, I said something else dumb to you...something about you not being able to be real. Jess...I want you to know that I don't care how many Daffy Duck voices you use, or how many goofy songs you make up, you are the bravest and realest person I know."

Her eyes finally faltered a bit, and almost looked up at him, inspiring him to struggle to elaborate past the boundaries of his prepared apology. "I wish I could be more like you. I really do. You let yourself completely feel everything that happens to you in life, good and bad. When it's good, no one is happier than you. And when it's bad, no one is sadder than you. But you jump into life with both feet, and you let yourself FEEL it...and...and LIVE it...and...I think we both know I'm not that brave." He paused for a second to contemplate his own utter cowardice, before continuing. "And at the end of the day, you're the only person I know who's completely unafraid to say exactly how she feels, no matter what the consequences might be..."

"That's not true."

He was so into his litany of her virtues at that point, and so used to her lack of response, that her abrupt interruption took him by surprise. "What?"

She was fully looking at him now, completely solemn and serious, as she repeated, "There's feelings I'm afraid of. And there's things I'm scared to say, and things I'm scared to do, because I don't know what will happen. I should apologize to _you _Nick, because I'm a hypocrite. I shouldn't have said any of that stuff to you last night. If you want to know the truth, I'm right there on the shore with you, holding the wallets."

He half-smiled at her analogy, but had to argue its application to her. "I don't know Jess, from where I'm standing, it looks like you always reach out and grab exactly what you want from life, no matter what anyone thinks. You're totally a wave-jumper, not a wallet-holder like me."

But she was shaking her head, sad and resigned. "I'm not, Nick. Not when it really counts." And she took a deep breath, as she continued with slightly teary resolve:

"And here's the thing, anyway. I have to stop all that. I'm a grown-up now, and I have to stop being so impulsive. I have to stop wearing my heart on my sleeve. And I have to stop caring so much. It's childish, really, and it's a stupid way to live your life. It's just setting yourself up for disappointment, and...and heartbreak... and I've had enough of all that. It's time for me to be strong, and to learn to guard my heart, and filter my emotions, and watch what I let myself say..."

For once, she was making perfect sense. He really couldn't have said it any better himself.

So...why did it feel like little pieces of his heart were crumbling and falling away with every word she spoke?

"Jess, this isn't you talking. This is Cece." _Damn Cece. _"I know she doesn't like to see you hurt, and she has her own way of handling her emotions."_ Her own ice bitch way. _ "But you're not Cece." _Thank God. _ "You're Jess. And there's nothing wrong with _Jess_. When the rest of us try to tell you that there is, don't listen to us. We're the stupid ones."

But Jess was resolutely shaking her head again, "No Nick, she's right. And Winston's right, too. I care too much. I always have. I have to stop. For instance, this thing..." she faltered for a second, vaguely waving an embarrassed hand between the two of them, "...this thing with me and you. I have to stop caring so much, because it's not doing either one of us any good."

He wanted to protest that her caring about him was the best thing that had happened to him in years, maybe EVER, but she was continuing, more softly, more shyly, but determinedly. "You're not my dad, Nick. I can't make you my project. I can't _fix _you...just like I couldn't ever fix him. I'm sorry that I've made it my business to try, because it's NOT my business. I apologize, and I hope you understand that it was just because I do like you so much, and I think you're one of the most amazing people I've ever met, and I just want...I just want what's best for you. But you know what? It's not up to me to decide what that is. It's up to you. Winston was right...I can't MAKE you be who I think you should be. As your friend, it's just my job to love and accept who you ARE, and to support whatever decisions you make, and..." she finally paused, taking a deep breath, and wrapping things up a little shakily, "...and I promise that that's what I'll do, from now on."

It seemed he wasn't the only one who'd had a speech prepared, he reflected wryly. Because that's exactly what it sounded like...rote words that she was repeating, trying to convince herself that they were true. "I'll believe it when I see it," he rasped dryly. After all, it was very hard to imagine that after all this time, maybe she WOULD finally stop nagging and pestering him...that she might actually start _minding her own damn business_ for once.

After all, that was what he'd been asking her to do, practically since the day they met.

Funny, then, that now that it looked like he might actually be_ getting _it, all he could think about was desperately wanting things to stay the way they'd always been. Because a world in which Jess cared any less about him than she currently did suddenly seemed like a world not much worth living in.

The pain was just getting worse, a constant ache that seemed to pulse out from his heart to radiate though his back, and Nick was remembering why he preferred to keep himself obliterated during such times. Nothing in him was equipped to handle emotions this complicated, and it was way, way easier to just numb himself. Even if it meant that he sometimes said hurtful things that he didn't mean to people who were better than he deserved.

So he decided to go back to that, because this whole "experiencing things sober" thing didn't seem to be turning out to be so hot, after all. He awkwardly levered himself up from her bed, and said, "Ok, well, my back has had about all it can take. I'm going to take another pill or three, and go to bed. Thanks for talking to me, Jess." _Except_ w_hy was he thanking her for a conversation that had left him feeling like something very sweet in his life had just died? _

He started shuffling to her door, but heard a tiny, "Nick?" And when he turned, he smiled to see his old Jess sitting there again...with her big heart peaking out from behind those silly glasses...and she was smiling shyly and allowing herself to say, "In case I didn't tell you before...I'm really, really glad you don't have cancer."

He smiled back, "I really, really am too. But for the record..." he stopped long enough to watch her head cock in curiosity, and it made him feel a little smug to think that maybe she wasn't going to be able to stop caring about him quite as quickly as she'd planned, "...for the record, if and/or when I die, you're exactly who I'd want to have speak at my funeral. As long as you promise to show up and be the Jess who loves with her whole heart, and isn't afraid to talk in funny voices while she's telling people how they ought to be living their lives. Because that's the Jess I really like. I'm glad she's around."

He didn't completely understand the funny look or the secret smile that crossed her face with his final words, but he was just glad to see her looking happy again. Maybe this "talking things out while he was sober" thing wasn't such a bad idea after all. It had suddenly taken a turn for the better. He was almost tempted to sit back down for another go at it, but she was blinking suspiciously and saying, "Thank you Nick. Now go take your pain pills."


	5. Chapter 5

Nick did go and take his pain killers, shaking a generous number into his palm before stopping...reading (for the first time) the recommended dosage on the bottle...sighing...and sending more than half of them tumbling back.

He even washed them down with water this time.

Then he went and knocked on Winston's door for a little more unfinished business.

"Hey bud, can we talk a minute?"

"Yeah, come on in..." When Nick opened the door and stuck his head in, Winston was getting off the phone with Shelby. "Yeah babe...gotta go, but I'll call you in the morning, ok? I gotta figure something out about my vehicle situation...sure, thanks boo...see you in my dreams..."

For once Nick didn't roll his eyes, but said politely, "Hey, I didn't know you were on the phone...I can leave..."

"No man," Winston said tiredly, "We need to talk."

"Yeeeeah," Nick agreed, walking in and unceremoniously laying his full body across Winston's bed, as he hadn't dared do with Jess.

"You talk to Jess?" Winston gestured with his head as he smiled dryly, "Thin walls."

"Yeah."

"How'd that go?"

Nick thought for a few seconds. "I'm not sure. Good, I think. But she was acting a little weird...talking about needing to change, and that she was going to stop caring so much and...stuff."

Winston just rubbed his face and said, "Yeah...well...you might want to just cut her some slack for awhile. She...she's got her own issues, you know...stuff going on you don't know about...a lot of baggage about her dad, it sounds like..." he drifted off.

"Yeah, I know dude. I just...I wish...I'm just..." Nick had no idea what he was trying to say, but Winston echoed him, "Yeah, I know dude."

Because that's what best friends did.

"What about us, dude? We ok?"

Winston sniffed a little laugh, looking down sheepishly, "You're still speaking to me, so I guess so."

"Winston..." Nick paused. Being "real" with Winston was even harder than it was with Jess. Number one, they were DUDES. Dudes didn't talk about their stuff. Number two, they'd known each other for so long that he was used to things just going without saying, between the two of them. But tonight it felt like a few words were necessary. If he only just knew how to start...

Winston had mercy on him:

"Nick, you know I'm always gonna be here for ya, buddy."

"Yeah."

"No matter what."

"Yeah, same, man, same."

"But I gotta tell you...I'm worried about you."

It was Nick's turn to sniff a humorless laugh, "Understood, my friend. And if we're being honest, I'm starting to worry about me, too."

They shared a few seconds of Winston conspicuously NOT asking any questions, prompting Nick to continue, "For awhile there it just felt like I was stalled out, you know? Stuck in a rut. Going no place. And surprisingly, I was fine with that. I mean, that wasn't so bad. It was stable and predictable.

"But lately I've been feeling like things are starting to spiral out of control on me. I've got a lot on my mind, and I don't know, anymore, what's crazy, and what's sane, and what's possible, and what's not. All I know is I feel like I'm living in a house of cards that's going to come crashing down at any time if I don't make all the right decisions."

"Nick?"

"Yeah?"

"Is this the drugs talking?"

"Haha, very funny. I'm spilling my guts to you here, buddy!"

"Look, Nick, it's like I told Jess. None of us can live your life for you. We can't tell you what to do. But I _will_ tell you, from where I'm standing, you're at a crossroads. Things could go either way for you from this point. And you know that we..._all _of us...me, Jess, Schmidt...we all love you, and only want what's best for you."

Nick just laid there with his head buried in his hands for a minute, before raising up again, sniffing surreptitiously. "Okay, well, I nearly started crying right then, so, yeah, I'm going to blame it on the drugs and go to bed." Nick stood, and did a little twist, happy to discover that indeed, the pills _were _kicking in and starting to do their job. He reached out and shook Winston's hand. It seemed like the thing to do. "Thanks buddy...for everything."

"No problem," Winston grinned. "Anytime, my brothuh from a white mothuh."

And as Nick was leaving he turned long enough to say, "Hey Winston...for what it's worth, I'd let you speak at my funeral, too."

"Oooh," Winston laughed, "I wouldn't, man. I really wouldn't."

"Well..._I _would," Nick said. And that was his way, as he quietly shut his best friend's door, of telling him, "I love you too."


	6. Chapter 6

By the time he was finally laying in his own bed, the pain killers were working their magic in earnest, and Nick was floating on that warm, fluffy cloud of oblivion, again. And for the first time that day he had the chance to indulgently review the flashes of opiate-addled memories that had been peeking out and taunting him from the edges of his consciousness, all day.

MEMORIES was such an vague word, however, when one didn't remember what it was that one was remembering. _Was _it just a dream he'd had? Because these pills were really amazing, on that front. The night before he'd also had a dream about being abducted from the beach by aliens who had kindly sucked all the cancer out of his body with a huge alien suction hose thingie. That had seemed very vividly real, as well, but he could only assume that that had not, in fact, actually happened.

Or who knew, maybe he was just remembering an elaborate falling-asleep fantasy he'd spun, as he'd laid next to Jess on the sand. Because goodness knows, his mind had also been getting more and more creative with those kinds of scenarios as well, lately.

But maybe..._just maybe_...these snatches of memories were actually...you know..._**memories**_. Of stuff that really, actually...you know... _**happened**_. And given that that was at least a possibility, it seemed crucially important that he go ahead and trot them out and examine them in full. Piece them together the best he could. See if anything else came back to him.

Purely as an intellectual exercise, of course. Nothing more.

And so he began.

The first tentative images he allowed himself to entertain were of Jess sitting next to him in the salt-tinged dark, haloed by the lights of the boardwalk behind them. He was telling her that giving in and kissing her wasn't worth risking losing her.

Hmmm. Well, _that _wasn't very definitive, as far as "memories" went. He'd given himself _that _particular little speech a million times over, before. Even practiced, in his head, saying it to HER, should the need ever arise.

So he moved on.

Next he heard her voice, echo-y, like it was coming from under water, telling him that she wanted to kiss him too. But the lips did not move on the image of her face accompanying this memory, just her eyes, searching his, and giving him the permission he needed.

Weird. But not as weird as the next snatch of a memory, in which he argued that going ahead and kissing would be okay, since..since...since _neither one of them _would remember it the next day?!

?!

He supposed it was possible that he could have been high enough to think and say something that stupid. But for Jess to just go along with that ridiculous line of "reason", without totally laughing in his face?! That was almost certainly the crazy stuff of dreams, right up there with cancer-sucking alien hoses.

But then_...then_...the next memories...of actually _kissing_ her...oh, they were so unbearably sweet and real and true and right that he could hardly find it in himself to believe that it_ hadn't _happened. Oh sure, the way the scenario played out in his head, it had all gone so..._spectacularly_...in terms of his own smoothness. So _that _was almost certainly the fabrication of a wistfully over-active imagination, because realistically he did not consider himself a stud on the best of days, much less drunk off his gourd. And the fact that somehow a romantic orchestral soundtrack seemed to soar along with these memories also seemed to push things that much further towards the "it never happened, dummy" side of the check list.

BUT...but then... then there were the things he so vividly seemed to remember, in exquisite detail: The exact taste of her lip gloss, and the perfect, textured heat of her tongue against his. The way her tiny hand had shook against the back of his neck until she finally found the boldness to pull him to her. The fevered way he'd taken off Winston's coat, at first thinking only of removing at least one of the barriers between them...but then bunching it up for her to rest her head on as she lay there beneath him, whimpering his name in protest when his lips left hers, and stifling a moan against his mouth when they returned again.

Then there was the way her fingers had willfully scratched against the roughness of his beard, as if to satisfy a long-standing curiosity. The way he hadn't been able to stop mumbling her name..."Jess...Jess..." against her mouth as he kissed her. Then the long moments when he'd slowly, seductively moved his tongue in and out of her mouth, mimicking another movement that he really wished he was making, with another part of his body. And the way that she had trembled beneath him, mewling softly, almost making the noises that one would expect her to make if he was.

And now Nick hated himself for the way his hand slipped, almost against his will, under the edge of his blanket, and past the elastic of his underwear. It didn't matter anymore where these "memories" came from, even though hearing his own breath break and shatter like the waves against the shore in the night felt like de-ja-vu.

But right then all he could think about was free-falling, like a high diver, into the deep pools of her eyes, while her hair spread beneath them both, black wave on black velvet wave, to cushion his fall. And in his fantasies now he did unbutton her coat and slip a hand inside her shirt, sliding it up over her bird-like ribcage, to cup a tiny breast. An action he knew for a fact he would never have allowed himself in real life, but one that felt to him now, in this sweetest of stolen imaginings, like a homecoming, and his resulting absolute joy spilled in hot waves of fulfillment over the edges of his jerking fist.

Damn. **DAMNNNN. **_Damn_. Yes, he always hated himself after these moments. But they had come, with time, to feel a lot less like shameful indulgences, and a lot more like necessary acts of prevention. Because there were nights when, if he didn't do this, he would almost certainly have found himself jumping up out of bed, marching across the hall, and finding out what would happen if he caught her hair back with a rough hand before smashing his lips against hers with the craziness of it all, _all _of this, this way that he couldn't stop thinking about her this way even though he wanted to, more than anything.

Because Nick Miller messed everything up. It's what he did.

And he was determined, this time, not to.

Still, he could hear her eager voice in his head even now, asking, "Okay...just tell me! If you could do anything..._what would you do?!"  
_  
And OH...there was so much. So much that he WANTED to do. If only he could know what would happen _next_.

But there was just no way to know. And she was just too important to take risks with.

So rolling over with his back to her room he decided that, for right now, if she was willing to just stand next to him on the beach holding everyone else's wallets, he could be more than happy with that.

As long as she was with him, he could be happy with that.


End file.
